In Love and War
by HedwigBlack
Summary: In Azkaban, Barty reflects on how love and war makes fools of us all. And he brought Regulus down with him. / nonlinear and slightly AU. BartyReg slash


**This is for the House Cup Competition. I'm in Gryffindor Year 7 :D.**

**Prompts: BartyRegulus, "Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes they win."- Stephen King, relieved, a character must forget something important, heartbeat, "that changes nothing", broken quill**

**Slight AU, nonlinear, slash. Yay.**

**Thanks so much to Allie for beta-ing and Sam for her input and for believing in me. My wifeys are so awesome. *cuddles***

* * *

You are a fool, Barty. A goddamn fool.

But we are all fools in love and war.

…

You're given a cell across from him and you hear him whimper in the darkest corner. It's like a knife in your heart twisting with every echoing sob, but it lets you know he's okay…

Okay?

No, you think as the chill begins to settle into your bones, and the death rattle of your joints starts to harmonize with the heartbeat in your head. No, okay is not an appropriate word. It lets you know he's _alive_. So you cling to that hope while you still can, a hope that maybe this isn't the end.

A hope that begins to attract unwanted visitors.

…

_Thumpthumpthump_ goes your heart and the headboard, and then you hear the front door slam.

"Barty?"

_Fuck._

Regulus is quick to cast a Disillusionment Charm while you pull on some clothes and meet your father halfway down the hall outside your bedroom. He doesn't notice anything suspicious-which just goes to show how much attention he pays you. This time, you are grateful.

"Don't be late for dinner," he says, and then he's gone down the hall to the study and you rush back to your room and press your back against the door, sighing in relief.

Regulus reappears before you, smiling mischievously and pulling you in for a kiss by the collar of your rumpled shirt.

"That was a close one, eh?"

…

Every night it's the same. You hear her screams, his grunts of pain. You hear her crying out her child's name and see the flash of fear across your lover's face, blood staining the carpet and Death Eater masks on the ground long forgotten in the chaos. And all of this is set to the tune of Regulus's cries across the hall, and the sound of a wind blowing through the bars as the Dementors draw nearer.

You hope he knows you're sorry. You're sorry for everything.

…

He tells you of Horcruxes. Something about a locket, and a lake, and '_we could end this right now.' _He tries to explain how the magic works, but you don't give a damn how any of it works, only that it means you are on the winning side.

"He's tearing apart his soul, Barty. His _soul_."

"That changes nothing."

"It changes everything."

"It's war, Reg," you remind him. "Nothing matters if you're dead."

…

His hand brushes yours as you are dragged screaming out of the courtroom, but you hardly notice.

…

"Reg?" you whisper. The only response you get is the sound of waves splashing against the wall of your cell. It's high tide. "Reg?"

You find a loose rock in the corner and throw it across the aisle. It shatters against the floor, and in the darkness you can barely make out his fingers wrapping around the bars of his cell. You can't see his face. A mist starts to roll down the corridor, clouding your vision, clouding your memory. You can't even remember what he looks like.

"Reg?"

…

You lay on your side, admiring the way his skin glows at midnight and the way his Dark Mark stands out so black against pale skin. He is beautiful.

You share a cigarette while talking of what's to come. He kisses your chest, your shoulder, your forearm. Your Mark is still so fresh that it burns, but you don't mind.

"I love you," he says.

You lean down and press your lips to his. He tastes of nicotine and something that can only be defined as Regulus. It's bitter and sweet and so, so addictive.

"I love you, too."

…

"War is coming," you tell him. It's the gossip on everyone's tongues as of late. The rumors have reached the papers and people are disappearing and there is no doubt in anyone's mind that war is in fact swooping down on you all. And with every mention of it, the heartbeat in your head becomes clearer, thumping away the seconds, minutes, and hours like a war drum. Counting down the school term until Hogwarts is no longer an excuse, it is no longer your distraction from the inevitable.

The war drum sounds again as you press your chest against Regulus's back, holding him from behind and whispering possibilities into his ear. You wonder if he can hear it in your voice. He lounges in your arms in the darkest corner of the courtyard. No one passing by pays the two of you any mind. You lean down to press and kiss against the soft skin of his neck. "War is coming, Reg," you say again. "What are we going to do?"

"We have to pick a side, don't we?" he responds. His voice is tinged with sarcasm, but you ignore this. He reaches into the depths of his bag and pulls a letter from among the broken quills and half-finished homework. It's in Bellatrix's writing.

"She says we're in," he tells you.

…

Clammy, rotten hands reach through the bars. They caress your face, claim a death grip around your heart, squeezing it until it beats louder, louder and frantic- so far from the steady thrum of a war drum. And it hits you now, as a mist begins to settle before your eyes and everything starts to fade, that your part in this war is finished.

And you've lost.


End file.
